Poetry: Flight of the Wild Geese

It was a tiresome night,

Dreary and damp.

I sat beside the window

As rivulets streamed down.

As weary as I feel

I have to wonder;

Was it a night such as this

When wild geese fled their home?

So many as these were

It must surely have been so.

Weather to match their mood,

Winging from shores never seen again.

Were the seas frothing,

Tinged with a sign of sorrow?